Faith. What can I blindly follow through rigged pathways? Under what pretenses can I abandon what I see? How easily it comes to some, the instinct to follow a path laid out in muscle memory instead of breadcrumbs. A world plotted in ley lines that lead them forward instead of landmarks. I envy what I can’t condone and marvel at what I don’t understand.

There is an unspoken courage in an act that feels like treason of the soul. An unparalleled bravery in silencing a chorus of human instincts and trudging forward. Some see it as a weakness, an inability to make one’s own choices. But that’s shortsighted. A good walker of the world needs both; guile and faith. There are times when the path is clear, merely overgrown with thickets. The brush won’t disappear because we will it so, we will have to hack it down. But there are times when we have no choices, knee deep in quicksand in the middle of a crossroads. At this point, our flailing against fate is the foolish choice. There are moments to act and there are moments to have faith. To use one instead of the other, or subscribe to one all together, is to doom yourself to strife.

And yet I still find it hard in moments when I know to choose faith to summon it. To feel a steadiness in it. Grasping for something in a lightless place that I cannot feel, I cannot even know. But to find faith is to believe it so. Perhaps there is no faith to be found for someone who does not will it into existence.

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